


Binnacle List

by Morgan_Primus



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Gen, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:21:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28125273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgan_Primus/pseuds/Morgan_Primus
Comments: 14
Kudos: 15
Collections: Synaptic Pattern/Neurogenic Field AU





	Binnacle List

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StellarLibraryLady](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StellarLibraryLady/gifts).



“Sir, I’d like to assist.”

He’d lately returned from leave on Vulcan to find a curious change in one of the ship’s personnel, the person in question now standing before him.

“Not necessary, nurse, or else I would have asked,” he replied, peering up from his padd.

“Well um...do you mind if I have a look at your notes?”

“For what purpose?”

“Peer review, sir.”

“Miss Chapel, for the last time, assistance is not required. Seek elsewhere, perhaps ask Sulu in Botany.” He returned focus to his padd.

“Apologies for the interruption then.” Hint taken, she spun heel and headed towards the doors.

He glanced their direction after hearing the characteristic chirps they made, to be certain she’d left.

She’d sought him everywhere, offering or requesting help, asking odd questions. Most recently, for his aid in translating a piece of ancient Vulcan literature; earlier, for his knowledge regarding Vulcan mysticism.

Areas of interest ranged from botany, alien neural patterns, to cuisine, dna, Vulcan body disposition practises...he had no intention of discussing any of those topics with her.

He did wonder why - previously she’d seemed to avoid him.

The next occurance would result in a counselling chit. The concern he felt was due to his duty as XO for a crew member under his charge, he told himself; that and nothing else.

* * *

It was late ship’s night, he making customary checks in the lower decks.

Turning a corner in the nearly deserted corridor, he saw her. He repressed the urge to sigh. He was not going to change his route to avoid her.

As they were about to cross paths, she nodded as she passed in silence, intent on her unknown destination.

He’d braced himself for another question or odd request, yet she’d done this. Perhaps she’d given up trying to find excuses to be near him.

* * *

Weeks passed, she’d become conspicuous in her absence. No longer did he see her in the rec room, mess hall, nor sick bay or labs...he was thrown. Her about-face almost as odd as her stalking, he found it unsettling enough to warrant an excuse to visit sickbay.

Upon entering, he spotted her in recovery, her hand over that belonging to an unconscious ensign who lay tightly curled in a foetal position on a biobed.

She failed to acknowledge, so he cleared his throat. Her glance ricocheted off him back to her patient.

“Nurse, where is Dr McCoy?” knowing the doctor to be on the bridge.

“The bridge, sir.”

“Is it necessary to sit with Ensign Cebes, Miss Chapel?”

“I’m not on duty, Mr Spock.” 

“In that case, carry on, Lieutenant.” 

* * *

Another week passed, again she’d gone ‘ghost.’ 

Curiosity-ridden, he waited until he was in his quarters. Lowering his shields, his mind reached outwards to locate her.

 _She is there_ , he sensed, _in the observation lounge_.

Satisfied, not wishing to intrude into her thoughts, he raised his shields and prepared to meditate.

* * *

Another landing party gone wrong resulted in him being wounded. After being carried on a litter from transporter room to sickbay, McCoy, M’Benga and Nurse May fussed over his wounds until he was stabilised. Restless and bored as he’d been ordered to remain in recovery for at least twelve hours, he again pondered the whereabouts of the Head Nurse.

Ordinarily, she would be in proximity, keeping vigil by his bedside. Unable to put aside curiosity, he attempted to locate her. He sensed she was aboard ship. But where?

The situation was niggling and intolerable. This time, rather than merely try to sense her, he would seek her response by broadcasting words over distance and solidity of the ship’s bulkheads via the medium of thought.

_//Miss Chapel, all is well with you?//_

Just then, sickbay’s doors opened and she strode in, taking the empty seat next to him after glancing at the monitor above the biobed.

“Was nearby, sir, knew you were in good hands,” she murmured.

“Why is it that I never see you anymore, nurse?”

“I’m always around, just giving you space, sir.”

“I ask because there is something off in your behaviour since I returned from leave.”

“Mr Spock, you did tell me to leave you alone.”

“You also appear to have isolated yourself from your crewmates.”

“Not really, sir. Did come to you for help time and again, you told me to f-.” She rubbed her eyes. “You refused.”

“I did not mean about you seeking me out, I meant with your usual associates.”

She looked away, sighed and toyed with her hair. “Not avoiding them, Mr Spock. You just don’t see me with them.”

He raised an eyebrow, “I...see.”

She shook her head. “No, Mr Spock. I don’t think you do.”

McCoy entered and studied his vitals. “Feeling ok, Spock? I’m going to the mess hall, and if I find out you haven’t eaten, I won’t release you.”

“I will eat, doctor.”

“I’m waiting, Spock. I’ll drop your meal off on the way to my quarters.”

“Lentils with tomatoes and cabbage, doctor, with tea.”

“Alright, I’ll bring some water along with your tray,” McCoy said. He turned and left.

Chapel remained silent and still next to his biobed. “Nurse,” he began, “you are not telling me everything. What has happened?”

She shrugged. “Told you, sir. Immersed in personal research.”

Spock’s hands contracted ever so slightly. Her borderline-insubordinate attitude was getting old.

“Help me with the terminal, nurse.” She rose, helped him to sit, then swung the device over to him.

With its screen just out of her view, he pulled up her service record. A clue lay in her recently updated status: ‘Deceased.’ He nearly gasped. 

He scanned her trauma record. An equipment malfunction while working alone in lab two during gamma shift had been listed as cause of death.

 _This_ , he thought, _must be in error._

Now was not the time to discuss her service record status, so he tacked. “Miss- -Christine, give me your hand.” A meld would have to wait.

Somewhat tentatively, she slipped her hand into his. It was Terran warm, her hand, as it channelled her surface thoughts and sombre mood to him, but more importantly, he could feel her pulse. He did not, however, find awareness there within her mind that might help solve the puzzle. 

“Miss Chapel, you received my summons, did you not?”

“I felt the urge to be here, suddenly,” she replied.

Gazing into her blue-grey eyes, he made a decision.

For now - and perhaps - for always, it was enough - that some part of whatever made Christine Chapel unique, remained. The notion was bereft of logic, but he felt he now knew why she needed to be close to him.

“Nurse, sit with me tonight. Afterwards, await my summons. I have a particularly relevant research topic for which I require your assistance.” 

Her radiant smile lit up the room, aided by an otherworldly gleam in her eyes.

”Oh, I would be very happy to do that, Mr Spock.” 


End file.
